UN STUDIA EN SCARLATA
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Nosa eserses de la matina ia es tro multe per mea sania debil, e me ia es estrema fatigada en la posmedia. Pos la parti de Holmes per la conserta, me ia reclina sur la sofa e ia atenta dormi per un o du oras. La atenta ia es futil. Mea mente ia deveni multe tro stimulada par tota cual ia aveni, e un fola de imajinas e suposas la plu strana ia entra a lo. Sempre cuando me ia clui mea oios, me ia vide ante me la fas contorseda e babuinin de la om matada. La impresa cual acel fas ia produi en me ia es tan menasante ce me ia trova difisilia en senti cualce cosa otra ca grasia a el ci ia sutrae de la mundo sua posesor. Si cualce espresa de fas ia pote indica vilia de la spesie la plu malvolente, lo ia parteni serta a Enoch J. Drebber de Cleveland. An tal, me ia reconose ce on debe xerca la justia e ce la malvole de la vitim no ia es un cualia lisensante en la opina de la lege.
Our morning’s exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes’s departure for the concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hours’ sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted, baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland. Still I recognised that justice must be done and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law.
Plu me ia considera lo, plu estracomun la ipotese de mea acompanior, ce la om ia es venenida, ia pare. Me ia recorda como el ia ensofla a sua labios, e ia ave no duta ce el ia deteta alga cosa cual ia jenera la idea. An plu, si no par venena, par cual causa la om ia mori, car no feri e no marcas de strangula ia esiste? Ma, a la otra lado, a ci la sangue ia parteni cual ia reposa tan densa sur la solo? On ia ave no indicas de un luta, e la vitim ia ave no arma con cual el ia ta pote feri un oposor. Tra cuando tota esta demandas va es nonsolveda, me ia senti ce dormi no va es un cosa fasil, o per Holmes o per me. Sua manera cuieta e autofidante ia convinse me ce el ia formi ja un teoria cual esplica tota la fatos, an si me no ia pote divina an per un momento lo cual lo es.
The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my companion’s hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, what had caused the man’s death, since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be no easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, self-confident manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all the facts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture.
Sua reveni ia es multe tarda — tan tarda ce me ia sabe ce lo no ia es posible ce la conserta ia deteni el per la tempo intera. La come de sera ia es sur la table ante sua apare.
He was very late in returning — so late that I knew that the concert could not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before he appeared.
“Lo ia es gloriosa,” el ia dise, sentante se. “Esce tu recorda lo cual Darwin dise sur musica? El declara ce la potia de produi e amira lo ia esiste entre umanas a tempo longa ante cuando la potia de parla ia es atenida. Cisa esta es perce nos es influeda par lo en modo tan sutil. Nosa spiritos conteni memorias nonclar de acel sentenios neblosa cuando la mundo ia es en sua enfantia.”
“It was magnificent,” he said, as he took his seat. “Do you remember what Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood.”
“Acel es un idea alga vasta,” me ia comenta.
“That’s rather a broad idea,” I remarked.
“On debe ave ideas tan vasta como la natur si on vole interprete la natur par los,” el ia responde. “Cual ajita tu? Tu no ave tua aspeta normal. Esta caso en la Via Brixton ia turba tu.”
“One’s ideas must be as broad as nature if they are to interpret nature,” he answered. “What’s the matter? You’re not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road affair has upset you.”
“Si, en parla onesta,” me ia dise. “Me ta debe es min sensosa pos mea esperias afgani. Me ia vide mea propre cameradas taliada a pesos a Maiwand sin perde mea coraje.”
“To tell the truth, it has,” I said. “I ought to be more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand without losing my nerve.”
“Me pote comprende. Un misterio parteni a esta, cual stimula la imajina; do on ave no imajina, on ave no teror. Esce tu ia vide la jornal de sera?”
“I can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. Have you seen the evening paper?”
“Lo dona un raconta relativa bon de la caso. Lo no inclui la fato ce, cuando la om ia es levada, la anelo de sposia de un fem ia cade sur la solo. Lo es bon ce acel es ometeda.”
“It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the fact that when the man was raised up a woman’s wedding-ring fell upon the floor. It is just as well it does not.”
“Regarda esta anunsia,” el ia responde. “Me ia fa ce on envia lo a cada jornal a esta matina, direta pos la caso.”
“Look at this advertisement,” he answered. “I had one sent to every paper this morning immediately after the affair.”
El ia lansa la jornal supra la table a me, e me ia regardeta la loca indicada. Lo ia es la anunsia prima su la titulo “Trovadas”. “En la Via Brixton, a esta matina,” lo ia dise, “un anelo de sposia de oro nondecorada, trovada sur la strada entre la taverna Servo Blanca e Bosce Holland. Solisita de Dr Watson, 221B Strada Baker, entre la oras dudes e dudes-un de esta sera.”
He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. It was the first announcement in the “Found” column. “In Brixton Road, this morning,” it ran, “a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadway between the White Hart Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr Watson, 221B Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening.”
“Pardona ce me ia usa tua nom,” el ia dise. “Si me ta usa mea propre, alga de esta foles ta reconose lo e ta vole interfere en la situa.”
“Excuse my using your name,” he said. “If I used my own some of these dunderheads would recognise it and want to meddle in the affair.”
“Acel es no problem,” me ia responde. “Ma si cualcun solisita lo, me ave no anelo.”
“That is all right,” I answered. “But supposing anyone applies, I have no ring.”
“Ma si, tu ave lo,” el ia dise, pasante un a me. “Esta va sufisi multe bon. Lo es cuasi un fasimil.”
“Oh yes, you have,” said he, handing me one. “This will do very well. It is almost a facsimile.”
“E ci va responde a esta anunsia, en tua previde?”
“And who do you expect will answer this advertisement?”
“Bon, la om en la jacon brun — nosa ami con la fas roja e la botas de fronte reta. Si el mesma no veni, el va envia un aidor.”
“Why, the man in the brown coat — our florid friend with the square toes. If he does not come himself, he will send an accomplice.”
“Esce el no ta regarda lo como tro perilosa?”
“Would he not consider it as too dangerous?”
“Tota no. Si mea comprende de la caso es coreta, como me crede par tota razonas, esta om ta prefere risca cualce otra cosa ca perde la anelo. Longo mea idea, el ia cade lo cuando el ia curvi supra la corpo de Drebber, e no ia nota alora la manca. Pos parti de la casa, el ia descovre sua perde e ia revade fretosa, ma ia trova la polisia ja ocupante, par causa de sua propre stupidia de lasa la candela ardente. El ia debe finje enebria per cansela la suspetas cual ia ta es cisa levada par sua apare a la porteta. Aora pone tu en la loca de acel om. Cuando el ia considera la situa, lo ia debe veni en sua pensas ce lo ia es posible ce el ia perde la anelo en la via pos sorti de la casa. Como el ta ata alora? El ta espeta zelosa la jornales de sera con espera de vide lo entre la ojetos trovada. Natural, esta ta saisi sua oio. El ta estasia. Perce el ta teme un trapa? No razona ta esiste en sua vide per lia la trova de la anelo con la omiside. El ta veni. El va veni. Tu va vide el pos min ca un ora!”
“Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber’s body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in possession owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that man’s place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. What would he do then? He would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come. You shall see him within an hour!”
“E alora?” me ia demanda.
“And then?” I asked.
“O! Tu pote lasa sua trata a me alora. Esce tu ave armas?”
“Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?”
“Me ave mea revolver vea militar e alga cartuxes de polvo negra.”
“I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.”
“Tu debe limpi lo e carga lo. El va es un om desperante; e an si me va surprende lo, on ata la plu bon si on es preparada per tota.”
“You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man; and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything.”
Me ia vade a mea sala de dormi e ia segue sua consela. Cuando me ia reveni con la pistol, la table ia es ja limpida, e Holmes ia es engranada par sua ocupa favoreda de raspa a sua violin.
I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned with the pistol, the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin.
“La misterio profondi,” el ia dise, a mea entra; “me veni de reseta un responde a mea telegram american. Mea comprende de la caso es la coreta.”
“The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered; “I have just had an answer to my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one.”
“E lo es como?” me ia demanda zelosa.
“And that is?” I asked eagerly.
“Mea violin ta es plu bon con cordetas nova,” el ia comenta. “Pone tua pistol en tua pox. Cuando la xico veni, parla a el en modo comun. Lasa tota otra a me. No asusta el par regarda tro forte el.”
“My fiddle would be the better for new strings,” he remarked. “Put your pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don’t frighten him by looking at him too hard.”
“Lo es la ora dudes aora,” me ia dise, rapida regardante mea orolojeta.
“It is eight o’clock now,” I said, glancing at my watch.
“Si. El va es probable asi pos alga minutos. Abri pico la porte. Acel sufisi. Aora pone la clave a la interna. Grasias! Esta es un libro strana vea cual me ia compra ier de un vendor esterna — De Jure inter Gentes — publicida en latina a Liège en Nederland en 1642. La testa de Re Charles ia es ancora firma sur sua spalas cuando on ia primi esta volum de religa brun.”
“Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you! This is a queer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday — De Jure inter Gentes — published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands in 1642. Charles’s head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was struck off.”
“Ci es la primor?”
“Who is the printer?”
“Philippe de Croy, un nom nonconoseda. Sur la paje inisial, en inca multe palida, on ave la scrive ‘Ex libris Gulielmi Whyte’. Me vole sabe ci William Whyte ia es. Alga avocato autoritar de la sentenio des-sete, me suposa. Sua scrive ave un stilo legaliste. Aora nosa om veni, me pensa.”
“Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the flyleaf, in very faded ink, is written ‘Ex libris Gulielmi Whyte’. I wonder who William Whyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth-century lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think.”
En cuando el ia parla, la campaneta ia sona subita. Sherlock Holmes ia leva cuieta se e ia move sua seja en dirije a la porte. Nos ia oia la pasa de la servor longo la coredor, e la clica cracin de la fisador cuando el ia abri lo.
As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it.
“Esce Dr Watson abita asi?” un vose clar ma alga raspin ia demanda. Nos no ia pote oia la responde de la servor, ma la porte ia clui, e algun ia comensa asende la scalera. La sona de la pasos ia es nonserta e pantoflinte. Un espresa de surprende ia traversa la fas de mea acompanior en cuando el ia escuta lo. Lo ia veni lenta longo la pasaje, e un bateta debil ia es fada a la porte.
“Does Dr Watson live here?” asked a clear but rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servant’s reply, but the door closed, and someone began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door.
“Entra,” me ia vosi.
“Come in,” I cried.
A mea clama, en loca de la om de violentia ci nos ia espeta, un fem multe vea e plietosa ia coxea a en la aparte. El ia pare es siecida par la brilia subita de lus, e pos un osileta de jenos, el ia sta palpebrinte a nos con sua oios neblida e palpante en sua pox con ditos nervosa e secutente. Me ia regardeta mea acompanior, e sua fas ia adota un espresa tan deludeda ce me ia debe labora masima per evita rie.
At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsy, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance.
La fea vea ia estrae un jornal de sera, e ia indica nosa anunsia. “Lo es esta cual ia veni me, bon seniores,” el ia dise, con un plu plia de jenos, “un anelo de sposia de oro en la Via Brixton. Lo parteni a mea fia Sally, ci ia sposi a sola un anio ante aora, avente per sposo un ospitor sur un barcon de la Linia Union, e la dise de la sposo si el ta reveni a casa per trova Sally sin sua anelo es plu ca me pote imajina, car el es tan disputosa an en tempos la plu bon, ma spesial pos cuando el ia bevi. Si lo plase vos, Sally ia vade a la sirco en la sera pasada con —”
The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. “It’s this as has brought me, good gentlemen,” she said, dropping another curtsy, “a gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelve-month, which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he’d say if he come ‘ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he being short enough at the best o’ times, but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along with —”
“Esce acel es sua anelo?” me ia demanda.
“Is that her ring?” I asked.
“Grasia la Senior!” la fem vea ia esclama. “Sally va es un fem felis a esta sera. Acel es la anelo.”
“The Lord be thanked!” cried the old woman. “Sally will be a glad woman this night. That’s the ring.”
“E tua adirije, per favore?” me ia solisita, prendente un lapis.
“And what may your address be?” I enquired, taking up a pencil.
“Numero 13 de Strada Duncan, Houndsditch. Un distantia fatigante de asi.”
“Number 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here.”
“La Via Brixton no es situada entre cualce sirco e Houndsditch,” Sherlock Holmes ia dise sever.
“The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch,” said Sherlock Holmes sharply.
La fem vea ia turna sua fas e ia fa un regarda penetrante a el de sua oios peti con bordas roja. “La senior ia demanda per mea adirije,” el ia dise. “Sally abita en un casa luada a Numero 3 de Plaza Mayfield, Peckham.”
The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. “The gentleman asked me for my address,” she said. “Sally lives in lodgings at 3 Mayfield Place, Peckham.”
“E tua nom es — ?”
“And your name is — ?”
“Mea nom es Sawyer — la sua es Dennis, cual Tom Dennis ia dona par sposi — vera, el es un bon xico intelijente cuando el es a mar, e no ospitor en la compania es plu alta reputada; ma pos atera, par causa de la femes e par causa de la botecas de alcol —”
“My name is Sawyer — hers is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married her — and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he’s at sea, and no steward in the company more thought of; but when on shore, what with the women and what with liquor shops —”
“Prende tua anelo, Sra Sawyer,” me ia interompe, obedinte un sinia de mea acompanior; “lo parteni clar a tua fia, e me es felis de pote restora lo a la posesor coreta.”
“Here is your ring, Mrs Sawyer,” I interrupted, in obedience to a sign from my companion; “it clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner.”
Con multe bondises farfuliada e declaras de grasia, la fea vea ia paci lo a via en sua pox, e ia pantofli a su longo la scalera. Sherlock Holmes ia salta a sur sua pedes direta pos la parti e ia freta a sua sala. El ia reveni pos un pico de secondos, envolveda en un jacon capida e un xarpe. “Me va segue el,” el ia dise, fretosa; “el es sin duta un aidor, e va gida me a la om. Resta veliada per me.” La porte de la coredor ia pumi apena pos nosa visitor ante cuando Holmes ia desende la scalera. Regardante tra la fenetra, me ia vide la pasea debil de la fem longo la otra lado, con sua xasor trasante el a un distantia peti a pos. “O sua teoria intera es noncoreta,” me ia pensa a me, “o el va es gidada aora a la cor de la misterio.” El no ia nesesa demanda ce me resta veliada per el, car me ia senti ce dormi va es nonposible asta cuando me va oia la resulta de sua aventura.
With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. “I’ll follow her,” he said, hurriedly; “she must be an accomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for me.” The hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor before Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through the window I could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. “Either his whole theory is incorrect,” I thought to myself, “or else he will be led now to the heart of the mystery.” There was no need for him to ask me to wait up for him for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his adventure.
Lo ia es cuasi la ora dudes-un cuando el ia sorti. Me ia ave no idea cuando el va pote reveni, ma me ia senta calma sofletante a mea pipa e vagante tra la pajes de La Vie de Bohème de Henri Murger. La ora dudes-du ia veni, e me ia oia la pedes de la servor tapente a sua leto. La ora dudes-tre, e la paso plu diniosa de la proprioresa ia pasa mea porte, dirijeda a la mesma destina. Lo ia es cuasi medianote cuando me ia oia la sona cracin de la clave de Holmes. Direta cuando el ia entra, me ia vide de sua fas ce el no ia es susedosa. Ilaria e frustra ia pare luta per domina, asta cuando la prima ia vinse subita, e el ia esplode con rie zelosa.
It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri Murger’s Vie de Bohème. Ten o’clock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same destination. It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his latchkey. The instant he entered I saw by his face that he had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for mastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh.
“Me no ta fa mea raconta a la polisia urban, an per tota la mundo,” el ia esclama, cadente a sua seja; “me ia burla los tan multe ce los ta sesa nunca venja se. Me pote permete a me un rie, car me sabe ce ultima me va egali con los.”
“I wouldn’t have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world,” he cried, dropping into his chair; “I have chaffed them so much that they would never have let me hear the end of it. I can afford to laugh, because I know that I will be even with them in the long run.”
“Alora, cual ia aveni?” me ia demanda.
“What is it then?” I asked.
“O! Me no oposa nara un raconta contra me. Acel creada ia vade tra un distantia corta cuando el ia comensa coxea e mostra cada sinia de ave un dole de pede. Pos corta, el ia para, e ia jesti a un taxi de cuatro rotas cual ia es pasante. Me ia susede es prosima a el per oia la adirije, ma me no ia nesesa es tan ansiosa, car el ia canta tan forte per es oiable a la otra lado de la strada. ‘Vade a Numero 13 de Strada Duncan, Houndsditch,’ el ia cria. Esta comensa pare autentica, me ia pensa, e pos vide ce el ia entra bon, me ia perxi me a pos. Acel es un arte en cual cada detetor debe es un esperta. Aora, nos ia clace a via, e la cavalo ia para nunca asta cuando nos ia ateni la strada pertinente. Me ia salta de sur, ante cuando nos ia ateni la casa, e ia gami longo la strada en modo casual e pigra. Me ia vide la para de la taxi. La gidor ia salta a tera, e me ia vide ce el abri la porte e sta espetante. Ma no cosa ia emerji. Cuando me ia ateni el, el ia es palpante con panica en la taxi vacua, e ventinte la colie la plu bon de blasfemas diversa cual me ia escuta en mea vive. On ia ave no sinia o trasa de sua pasajor, e me teme ce un tempo longa va pasa ante sua reseta de paia. Demandante a Numero 13, nos ia trova ce la casa parteni a un pendor respetable de paper de mur, nomida Keswick, e ce ala on ia conose nunca un person con o la nom Sawyer o la nom Dennis.”
“Oh, I don’t mind telling a story against myself. That creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being footsore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street, ‘Drive to 13 Duncan Street, Houndsditch,’ she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind. That’s an art which every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped off before we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out though. When I reached him, he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare. On enquiring at Number 13 we found that the house belonged to a respectable paper-hanger, named Keswick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there.”
“Tu no vole dise,” me ia esclama, en stona, “ce acel fem vea, debil e bambolante ia pote sorti de la taxi cuando lo ia es movente, sin ce o tu o la gidor ia vide el?”
“You don’t mean to say,” I cried, in amazement, “that that tottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while it was in motion, without either you or the driver seeing her?”
“Fem vea, a diablo!” Sherlock Holmes ia dise, sever. “La femes vea ia es nos, ci ia es tan enganada. El ia debe es un om joven, e ance ativa, en ajunta a un ator sin egal. La desembla ia es nonimitable. El ia vide ce el es segueda, sin duta, e ia usa esta modo de evade me. Lo mostra ce la om ci nos xerca no es tan solitar como me ia imajina, ma el ave amis ci es preparada per tolera alga risca per el. Aora, dotor, tu aspeta consumada. Segue mea consela e vade a leto.”
“Old woman be damned!” said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. “We were the old women to be so taken in. It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. Now, doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my advice and turn in.”
Serta, me ia senti multe fatigada, donce me ia obedi sua comanda. Me ia lasa Holmes sentante ante la foco ardetante, e tra multe de la profonda de note me ia oia la ululas basa e melancolica de sua violin e ia sabe ce el serebri ancora la problem strana sur cual el ia dedica se a desmarania lo.
I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction. I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin and knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel.